


my man lifts

by oceanlance



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, big ass fuckin shrug, just take it!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-20 22:57:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10672515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceanlance/pseuds/oceanlance
Summary: Bokuto is a big guy. Kuroo knows this–He knows this, and he still lends his shirts to Bokuto nonetheless.- or bokuto is buff and kuroo is Gay





	my man lifts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xwynn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xwynn/gifts).



Bokuto is a big guy. Kuroo knows this–He knows this, and he still lends his shirts to Bokuto nonetheless.

It starts one night when the two are nearly passed out on a couch in Kuroo’s living room. Kenma sits beside them, headphones perched snugly around his neck and plugged to the PSP in his hands. Every couple of seconds Kuroo hears a faint sound of a sword being sheathed and swung, or some grotesque, burly grunt coming from the headphones and it soon becomes white noise to his ears, as it always does.

Bokuto has got a juice pouch in his hands and his legs over Kuroo’s lap, his toes poking Kenma every now and then. Kenma makes a small noise, gathers his things, and announces that he’ll be in the bathroom. As he trudges away, he says, “If I’m not back in twenty minutes, knock on the door and have my charger ready.”

Bokuto noncommittally flicks through the channels on the T.V. using the remote, noticeably lingers on a channel containing clips of baby animals, and then continues to channel surf.

Kuroo remains silent. He almost drifts off, actually, and had it not been for the pressure of Bokuto’s calves on his thighs he would have slipped into a deep sleep much earlier. Kuroo’s eyelids fall heavy over his eyes and he can see the world going black until he feels the legs on top of him twitch, and then a loud, whiny groan comes from his right.

“What are you on about,” Kuroo says. His eyes are shut tight. He can feel the warmth of sleep edging onto his consciousness.

“Look! Hey, open your eyes. It’s barely eleven.”

Kuroo squints at Bokuto, and then he sees a large violet stain on his chest, damp and fresh.

Bokuto looks at him with pleading eyes. “You got any shirts I could borrow?”

Kuroo yawns. The question flies over his head and all discretion is thrown out of the window. “Upstairs in the middle drawer. Go wild.” That is where the first mistake is made.

So Bokuto hops off the couch and bounds up the stairs with far too much energy to have at this time of night and Kuroo yawns so hard he feels tears at the edges of his eyes as he stretches his lanky arms above himself. He throws his head back and the noise of the colorful characters on screen animatedly speaking becomes distant and muffled. He eventually feels the world softly drifting away.

And then he feels a hand shaking him back to life. The feeling of droopy agitation seeps into his very soul and he favors Bokuto with a question in the form of a silent scowl.

“You said we’d stay up all night,” Bokuto says with a disappointed lilt to his voice.

“By ‘all night’ I meant ‘until twelve’,” Kuroo explains, rubbing his eyes with the balls of his hands. When he removes his hands, he suddenly feels something in the atmosphere shift, like a giant wave of awareness and understanding.

Kuroo knows what Bokuto’s body looks like. He’s seen enough glimpses to fill in the gaps. This shirt, however, has left nothing more to his imagination. He is staring at the cold, hard facts before him at this moment. All he can see is muscle upon muscle upon–

Bokuto snaps his fingers in front of Kuroo’s face. Kuroo startles violently and slaps his hand away. He can feel his face’s temperature rise almost a billion degrees.

“You zoned out! What was I supposed to do?” Bokuto gripes, crossing his arms in a childish manner. His biceps flex with the movement. Kuroo’s throat feels dry.

“Whatever,” Kuroo manages to choke out, “It’s not my fault you’ve got bulging muscles.”

Bokuto’s eyes widen and Kuroo can just barely catch the red painting his face in the dim light of the room. All at once he feels the incessant urge to touch him, run his thumb over his lips, kiss his cheek–Corny shit like that. So corny, and yet...

“You look pretty hot in my clothes.”

“You're so blunt!” Bokuto complains, self consciously tugging the shirt down. All he does is expose his collarbone a bit more and flatten the fabric against his stomach–

“Shut up, shut up for a second,” Kuroo says quickly, shutting his eyes and putting his index finger to his mouth, listening as Bokuto waits with baited breath.

Kuroo’s lips curve into a grin. “I can hear angels singing–”

Bokuto shoves Kuroo, and the boy lets himself topple over lifelessly on that side of the couch. “Stop!” Bokuto covers his cheeks, squeezing his eyes shut, “I’m blushing!”

“Blush more, asshole,” Kuroo says with his cheek smushed against the cushion. He smirks sideways at Bokuto. “It’s cute.”

Bokuto grabs a pillow and smacks Kuroo with it. Kuroo gives a quiet ‘oof’ at the impact and Bokuto shrieks, “Shut up!”

“How can I when you look so _handsome_.”

Bokuto’s hands slide over his face, dragging his skin down exaggeratedly. “Ugh, stop _talking_!”

Kuroo sits up, his smile challenging and sleazy. “I can't. Guess you'll have to make me.”

Bokuto squeaks. “Stop it! Quit acting like you're cool!”

Kuroo blushes himself this time. He tries to hide it by smiling even harder. Suffice to say it does not work.

“You're blushing, too, now,” Bokuto triumphantly points out, “Serves you right.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Kuroo dismisses, even though he can feel his entire body lighting up at just the sight of Bokuto’s face, all pink and smooth and beautiful. He’s felt many things tonight but this is the feeling he’ll remember. His eyes soften just a bit and he leans closer toward Bokuto. “Meet me halfway and shut me up.”

And Bokuto, with his steaming face and wobbly smile, presses his lips to Kuroo’s and slots them together like he's only been doing it his whole life. They pull apart with a soft noise. Their eyes lock, hearts beating, and they rejoin with more purpose.

Bokuto’s fingers press into Kuroo’s waist and Kuroo’s hands have found their home around Bokuto’s neck. They kiss and they break apart, lips smacking sweetly, and neither one can tell how much time had passed before their kisses slowed and they spent more time with their foreheads together, eyes cast downward, mouths numb and hands jittery and butterflies fighting wars in their stomachs.

The television is still playing a strange, old sitcom that neither of them can remember the name of. The comical voices melt into the sound of their steady breathing, into the breathless laugh Kuroo gives when Bokuto lazily nudges their lips together one last time.

Bokuto stares Kuroo dead in the eye. “I’m stealing your dresser.”

Kuroo snorts.

Down the hall, Kenma walks sullenly out of the bathroom. “Guys,” he says, with his dead PSP in his hands, “what the fuck."


End file.
